


If I Just Lay Here

by erentitanjaeger



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, M/M, ereri, riren - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erentitanjaeger/pseuds/erentitanjaeger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then all at once I know; I shouldn’t feel like this, I shouldn’t be this worried, but I am.  It’s not the task at hand that is keeping me here, it’s what I might find if I leave.  If I ask the commander, he won’t go.  If I ask Hanji, she won’t leave.  It has to be me, it has to be me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Just Lay Here

**Author's Note:**

> Here have some angst that I spat out in an hour. I just wanted to write something and I had this story in my head so it means it was just easy to produce. Plus I like the commitment these two have in this fic.

I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I didn’t even know it was possible. This feeling inside me is making it difficult to concentrate on my task, making it difficult to think of anything else. I shouldn’t feel like this, I shouldn’t be this worried; but I am. Something is telling me to run, to run as far and as fast as I can, run to you. 

I’m not supposed to leave though. I’m not supposed to abandon the task I’ve been given. I’m only supposed to clean out the horse’s stables, but as you always say, somebody has to do it, and that somebody is me. If I leave, who will do it? But if I don’t leave, who will save you?

It keeps coming, it won’t go away; this gnawing feeling in my stomach that something is incredibly wrong. If I told the commander, would he believe me? If I asked Hanji, would she agree? If a told them both I’m leaving to find you, would they let me? 

There it is again; that awful pain. This time it’s in my neck, last time it was in my arm, in my leg, through my stomach. It’s worse than the worrying feeling, because it feels so real. It feels like someone has stuck their fingernails into my neck and are refusing to remove them until I give them what they want. 

What do they want though? 

If I asked the commander, if I asked Hanji, it wouldn’t make a difference. If I asked you, you’d only scoff at me and call me a moron. I’ve been wrong so many times before. I should ignore it, get back to my job, let you come home soon, safe and sound. When I see you, when I see that you’re alright, I’ll know it was all for naught. I’ll know I was just being paranoid, that our time spent a part was obviously something I wasn’t ready to handle; that I need to learn to grow and live without you.

I clench my teeth, I drop the bucket of soapy water I was holding, suds going all over the cobblestoned court yard. My hands fly to my ribs, the pain far worse than I ever could have imagined. And it moves now. It moves up, another stab through my lung. I gasp, loudly, crying out, tears forming in my teal eyes. It moves to my other lung, I can feel my ribs puncturing the muscle inside. The tears flow freely, my head hurts, I feel as if I am going to die.

Then all at once I know; I shouldn’t feel like this, I shouldn’t be this worried, but I am. It’s not the task at hand that is keeping me here, it’s what I might find if I leave. If I ask the commander, he won’t go. If I ask Hanji, she won’t leave. It has to be me, it has to be me.

I grab the nearest saddled horse I can find, flinging my leg over the saddle and not even giving myself time to adjust my feet into the stirrups properly before I’m riding off, towards the pain, towards the danger. I might find something horrible, something I couldn’t possibly want to see, but if I don’t go, who will be there when it happens?

The world turns into a blur around me, the tears that have built up making it impossible to navigate where I need to go. I lead my horse as far into the forest as I can before I close my eyes and trust in the path that was previously taken, trust in the animal’s instinct, thundering underneath me. 

I have to be strong, I cannot, will not, cry. I have to be brave, braver than I have ever been before, braver than I’ll ever need to be again. I need to take the anger I keep within myself, and use it one last time on the enemy I’m fast approaching. I won’t let them take you from me. I won’t let them destroy the one person I refuse to die for; only because living for you is so much more appealing.

The horse’s hooves on the forest path are loud, steady, slow. The path is becoming harder and harder for the animal to travel without concentrating on its feet. This is taking too damn long. I leap off, land on my feet and charge forward on foot. I’m not much better at traversing the rough terrain than the horse left behind, but I have something it doesn’t; someone on the other end I need to reach, and fast.

I don’t care when I step wrong and a stone almost goes through my foot. I don’t cry out when I slip and my ankle twists to an angle it shouldn’t. I don’t hesitate when I can feel the ground beneath me growing rougher and rougher; it only pushes me forward.

All at once, the terrain is smooth again. I’m covered on all sides by large cliff faces, rocks of all shapes, colours and sizes caging me in, giving me only one path. I run. My legs are aching, my ankle is throbbing, my tears burn my cheeks. But I’ll only hate myself if I stop, I’ll only wish to die if I hesitate, if I slow. I keep going forward.

I turn one bend, then another, the blades at my side get heavier and heavier, their purpose becoming clearer and clearer. I’m going to have to kill a man today, or he’s going to have to kill me. I’ve done it before, I can do it again. It’ll be easy, like cutting into butter. My new strength will work with me, my new skills will over power his own. I’ll let his blood spill down my hands and I’ll still sleepy easy tonight.

And I’ll do it all with you by my side.

I round the next bend and there you are. The smell of your blood is putrid and it fills my nose and makes me cough. The cough grabs the bastard’s attention, the bastard standing over my beloved with that fucking blade, dirtied with your blood. He sees me, he panics. So he should.

He cries out for me to stop, he sees my eyes, he knows what I’m capable of. He thinks I’ll turn, I’ll bite my hand and crush him under the weight of a much larger body that I still control. Or he thinks I’ll bite him in half and swallow him piece by piece. Well I’m sorry you fucktard, but I’ll do what I’m going to as a human being, though my humanity was left far behind me back at headquarters.

I run past your body, lying broken on the ground, covered in your own blood and weeping for the pain to stop. I bring my blade out, the sound of metal against metal absolute music to my ears. The moron takes a good, long look at my stance, the blade by my side, my eyes burning with the rage I had almost learnt to keep in control. I take one look at the bastard threatening everything I have to live for, and I let my blade fly.

One strike, two strikes, three, four, six, seven, ten, thirteen. I take a step back, changing my stance, and let the blade’s tip sink into his flesh. One stab, two stabs, three and four on his stomach, five and six on his shoulders and arms. I was wrong; it’s not at all like cutting into butter. It’s like slicing water, as if the target isn’t even there. My arm is drenched with red, the fabric adorning my shoulders grown heavy. One last time. One last kill. That’s all I need.

I fly the blade forward, intent on slicing through his neck. I miss, cutting only his skin and my blade is embedded into the rock behind him. I shove my fist into his throat to still him. He cries. He begs. He tells me he’s sorry. He tells me he thought he was doing the right thing. I can’t hear him. What I can hear is the faint breathing of the man on the ground behind me, I can hear you whimpering in pain, I can feel your broken ribs and bruised arms as if it were my own body.

Then you utter a single word, not even a word but a prayer, four letters of absolute faith that you’re using your strength to say. My name. It’s weak, the tone makes me sob. That such a strong man, my hero, my everlasting beacon of hope, has been put down to this. I pull my blade from the rock, watch the fucker fall to his knees, his head clutched in his hands. His life spared by the very man he tried to vanquish; he should only be so lucky.

I don’t waste any more of my time on him, placing my blade back in its hold and turning to walk towards you. You’re looking at me, your desperate, grey eyes filled with an emotion I’ve never seen, pure need for me to be with you right now. I won’t deny you, I never have and I never will. I am yours, yours alone. I will give you everything and anything that you want; my time, my heart, my body, my blood.

You reach a feeble hand towards me, and I have every intention of grabbing it and holding it to my mouth so I can begin to kiss away your pain. But I hesitate when I see it, your eyes widen and your mouth falls open, your brows furrow and you try desperately to stand. Don’t. Don’t walk, don’t move. I’ll come to you. Just give me a moment.

I turn, my blade already drawn, and with one final swing, I slice through the water, cutting it in half, letting the red splatter and fall over my face and my hair. He tried to kill me, after already having lost. He tried one final approach to ridding this world of both you and me, but he didn’t succeed. I watch one half of his body collapse, the other half falling on top of it. The blood oozes out, gathering around my boots and staining the souls. Pitiful, that he should try such a cheap trick.

I don’t even bother sheathing the blade, preferring to unclasp it from its handle’s hold and let it fall into the two pieces of corpse in front of me. Then I’m finally free to turn and run, collapse and sob next to my lover’s body.

You’ve got gaping wounds all over your body, your face is streaked in your own blood and I can see your bruised chest under your torn shirt, the pain in your features is also my pain to bear. But your eyes; your eyes have not changed. They are still full of the love and devotion I’ve seen directed towards me a thousand times. I feel your fingers on my cheek, stroking over my skin, your lips forming into a smile as I hold your body close to me.

You tell me thank you. You tell me I’ve done good. I sob, my tears falling onto your face, only doing so much to clean your dirtied skin. I live for your praise, everyday I’m trying something that will surely have you reward me in any way you see fit. I live for it now, kissing your fingertips and petting your hair, burying my face in your palm as I listen to your words drift over me, telling me I’m perfect, that you don’t deserve someone like me in your life.

Oh, but you have got it the wrong way around, my love. It is I who has never deserved you. Your constant faith in my strength and abilities, your devotion to my life. Your touches on my skin, your kisses on my lips, your arms wound tight around my body, holding me through countless nightmares. But if you believe I don’t deserve you, and you believe you don’t deserve me, than perhaps we don’t deserve each other.

Isn’t it better that way? Isn’t that how it always is? Life is so unfair, and so it’s cursed us with the hold we both have on each other’s hearts, on each other’s lives. This is a curse I will secretly laugh and smile at, secretly love and cherish almost as much as I love and cherish you. This is our punishment, isn’t it? The deeds we’ve done in another life are now piling up and we’ve been damned with each other’s love.

What a fitting hell I’ve fallen into.

But it’s alright, my love, because the danger is gone and it won’t be back. I’ve saved you from the bastard who thought he could take you down, I’ve fought hard enough for the both of us so we could both live and love another day.

I carry you in my arms, holding you tightly to my chest, back through the one way labyrinth of cliffs and rocks, over the rough terrain I still don’t notice, still don’t take my time over, even now. I kiss your forehead as we make our way back through the forest, towards the castle, where you’ll be attended to by the best of the best. Though they may sew you back together again, clean your wounds and take away your pain, it is I who will watch over you through the nights and days, making sure you’re comfortable and secure. I’ll stay by your side, my love, don’t you worry. I will never leave.

But when I am told to leave, when I’m told to go so they can fix you in a way I cannot, your voice is harsh and finite. If I leave the room, you claim you’ll refuse all treatment. You’ll be happy to die unless I stay by your side. How childish you are, how immature you can be. I love that part of you, I’ve always loved that part of you. There isn’t a part of you I don’t love.

So I clasp your hands and stroke your features, I let them take away my blood soaked clothes and cover me with clean ones, but I never let go of your hands. When they’re finally done and your flinching has stopped, your pain has finally eased and your hand relaxes in mine, I kiss your eyes and your lips, I pull the blanket over you and watch as you fade into a deep sleep.

I’m scared, though, don’t you see? I’m scared if you leave me now, even if you’re still here, I’m scared you won’t come back. I try to tell myself that you will, that after today, there’s no way you’d just leave me with no warning. But there are something’s you can’t control, you control-freak. And I’m so scared that your death is one of them.

So I lay my head down, and I leave with you. We walk the same path, our hands clasped tightly together. I said I wouldn’t leave your side, so why are you so surprised to see me with you now. It’s warm, right now. I don’t mean your hand, or your skin, or even your eyes. It’s warm. The sun is nice here, and over in the distance I can see the sun warming a place that neither of us may be ready to touch.

Listen to me now. Whether we turn around, whether we go back to that place behind us, or we keep walking into the warmth in front of us, keep walking towards the place over there that seems infinitely better, that’s entirely up to you. 

Which will you choose, my love, my everything, my curse? 

Which will it be?


End file.
